SUBJECT: ATTICUS
Thomas shook off his umbrella, looking back at the storm raging outside the children’s home. It was almost apocalyptic out there—lightning chasing across the sky, thunder shaking the ground with each boom. The streetlights gave the sheets of rain an eerie glow, or maybe that was just Thomas’s imagination. His head was a mess tonight.
This was it. The beginning of his plan. A culmination of everything he’d planned for the last year…if the boy worked out. Allen seemed sure that this boy—this orphaned eight-year-old child—was the perfect subject for Thomas’s project.
He wiped the rain from his brow as he walked towards an elderly security guard hunched over the front desk. Just as he was about to announce himself, Allen came sweeping out from a doorway on the left. “Thomas, just in time. Come with me.”
Allen clapped him on the back and turned him around just as the security guard noticed him. Allen gave the man a wave. He dipped his head, returning to whatever had his attention on the desk.
Allen gave him a reassuring smile, running a hand through his dark hair. He was in his late forties, handsome in a distinguished way, graying only at the temples. He was almost the same age as his father would have been had he lived. It made sense given he was one of Thomas’s father’s closest friends. All these years later, their friendship still baffled Thomas. His father was a nightmare of a human, rotten to his core.
Allen on the other hand was…solid. Not overly friendly or ingratiating. Not too cold or distant. He was the definition of steadfast. When people said somebody had a good head on their shoulders, they were often talking about somebody like Allen. He was respected, connected, and beyond reproach. How had Allen tolerated his father all those years?
It didn’t matter. Thomas was grateful to have Allen as an ally, somebody to easily navigate the system, cut through red tape, facilitate transfers, and run interference.
The building was deceptively small outside, but inside was a sea of closed doors and tunneling hallways. They’d painted the walls a nauseating mint green that had faded to an even dingier yellowish green over time. The linoleum tiles were starting to peel up from the concrete floor beneath, and the lights flickered like something out of an old horror movie. When they reached a crossroads, they took a hallway on the left.
Thomas gave a nervous laugh. “There’s no end to this place.”
Allen chuckled. “It seems that way.”
Thomas darted a glance in the older man’s direction. “Where are we going?”
“Trust me, just…just trust me,” Allen said, increasing his pace.
They made a right turn and came to a dead end where there were four closed doors. Allen nodded to a woman wearing jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, and a ponytail. “Is he in there already?”
She nodded.
“Alone?”
She shook her head, eyeing Thomas curiously. “No sir, with Frankie.”
“Excellent.”
He led Thomas to the first door on the left. An observation room of sorts, with a two-way mirror dividing them and two young boys. One of the boys had a shock of red hair, eyes so blue Thomas could see them from across the room, and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He might have been the most wholesome looking child he’d ever seen. He sat at a table with a small blond boy, much younger than himself. He was showing the little boy something in the book. The little boy made a face like he thought something was gross and then began to giggle. The red-headed boy followed suit.
He and Allen observed their play for roughly five minutes before Thomas asked, “What am I looking at here?”
“Just wait for it.”
Thomas shifted restlessly, crossing his arms over his chest. Another minute or two passed, and then the woman with the ponytail entered, calling the smaller boy to come with her. He stood and waved. The red-headed child eagerly waved back. Thomas gave one more puzzled look at Allen before the man pointed back to the room.
When Thomas looked back, the red-headed boy was now methodically tearing out the pages of the book, taking those pages and shredding them into smaller and smaller strips, a blank expression on his face. The rapid shift in his demeanor was bone-chilling given his liveliness just moments ago.
Before he could enquire further, another woman entered. This woman was wearing a skirt and blouse, dressed as if she were about to go to a function or maybe on a date. The boy turned to the woman, looking her up and down with slow, methodical precision. She smiled warmly. He did as well. She extended her hand and he took it, shaking it. When she sat beside him, she crossed her legs at the ankles, keeping her hands in her lap. The boy did the same. When she leaned in, he did the same.
“He’s…mimicking her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We’re not quite sure.”
“What’s his backstory?” Thomas asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the seamless way the boy mirrored the woman.
“They raided a property down south after they’d heard rumors it was a grow farm. And it was. Everything from weed to poppies. There were several people living on the property. None of them related, all of them indigent. They still haven’t sorted who’s who. The ones who can speak with any coherency aren’t talking and the rest have had their brains strangled from huffing paint and gasoline.”
